


Grocery Run

by mrs_d



Series: Songs for the Morning [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (of a sort), Banter, Grocery Shopping, Humor, M/M, Mission Sex, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since when did HYDRA operate a grocery store?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grocery Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machine_dove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/machine_dove/gifts).



> Sorry it's so late! I hope you enjoy it! <3
> 
> Inspired by [that time I wrote"vanilla sex" instead of "vanilla" on my grocery list](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com/post/136781049384/so-i-just-wrote-vanilla-sex-instead-of).

“Damn you, Robot Man,” Sam sighed.

Steve wanted to agree, but his mouth was a little full. He glanced up through his lashes in time to see Sam’s head roll back, his hair brushing the stack of pallets behind him as Steve took him as deep as he could and swallowed around his cock.

He knew exactly what Sam was talking about. Ever since their adventure with Professor Labyrinth in Jersey, they’d become a little obsessed with what Sam called _on-the-job quickies_. Most of the time they held off until the bad guy was collared at least, but tonight they were just doing recon. Steve wasn’t even sure that HYDRA was here — since when did international terrorist groups operate grocery stores? — so they were in their civvies. They didn’t bring the team or their gear, except for Sam’s sidearm and a couple of bulletproof vests. And the shield, of course.

The shield that Steve was currently using to block anyone from seeing what he was doing to Sam in the corner of the stock room.

It was stupid, Steve knew, not to mention dangerous, but he’d always known he was something of an adrenaline junkie, and Sam, for all his pleasant rationality, was just as bad. All it took was one smug comment about mission objectives being better than foreplay, and Steve was dragging him into a corner and dropping to his knees.

“Oh, baby, do that again,” Sam whispered, when Steve pulled back enough to circle the tip of his cock with his tongue.

Sam’s hushed tone, the musky smell of sex between them, the risk of being seen, being interrupted — Steve loved it all. He moaned around Sam and couldn’t help reaching down, his sweaty fingers fumbling with the catch of his pants.

He breathed a little sigh of relief through his nose when he finally got his hand around his cock. He had to pull the shield a little tighter against Sam’s hip to keep his balance. Sam obligingly cupped his face to steady him, his thumb tracing the stretch of Steve’s lips. His familiar touch was tender but firm — Steve could tell how close he was.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice rough.

Steve pulled back and nodded wordlessly, his hand going still. Sam grinned down at him, his pupils blown black with desire.

“Keep touching yourself, though, baby, I want to see,” he added.

Steve nodded again and went back to jerking himself off. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, waiting for Sam to move him where he wanted him.

“Goddamn that’s pretty,” Sam groaned. “Get over here.”

He pulled Steve forward until his cock nudged the back of Steve's throat. Steve relaxed, letting his eyes flutter closed as Sam’s hips started to rock, slowly at first and then a little more urgently. His fingers buried themselves in Steve’s hair, twisting and pulling almost hard enough to make Steve’s eyes water. Sam knew Steve could take it, knew Steve loved taking it, loved it when Sam took charge.

Steve’s hand sped up when Sam did, matching his rhythm. He swallowed without really meaning to — Sam hissed out his name and yanked Steve back so he could reach between them and fist his own cock. After only a few sharp movements, he was coming into Steve’s mouth, hot and sharply sweet. Steve swallowed again, this time on purpose, wringing another small noise from Sam’s throat that carried Steve up to and over the edge unexpectedly. He moaned around Sam as the pleasure hit him like a wave of hot water: an intense rush that left him tingling from the soles of his feet to his overfull mouth.

He pulled off completely, but he sagged forward, resting his forehead against Sam’s still-clenched abdomen. His breath was coming in gusts, and he hoped to hell that Sam was watching out for any approaching bad guys, because he sure wasn’t.  

After a moment, Sam reached down to tuck himself away and do up his pants. His fingers lingered by Steve’s ear, sending a chill down his spine.

“Look alive, Cap,” he said in that warm, teasing tone that Steve absolutely adored.

“Sir,” Steve mumbled, picking himself up off Sam’s belly. He tapped Sam’s thigh with the shield, so he would take it, then dug a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his hand.

Above him, Sam chuckled. “You know,” he began.

“Don’t even think about making a grandpa joke,” Steve cut him off as he re-fastened his khakis. He shook his head to clear it, letting Sam help him to his feet. “Cameras still offline?”

“Hope so,” replied Sam, but he pulled out his modified phone to check anyway. “We’re good: 58 minutes before the power comes back on.”

“Damn,” Steve muttered. “We could have taken our time after all.” He turned on the spot, looking for the stock room door.

“We can take our time tonight,” Sam suggested, his voice like liquid honey.

Steve felt himself reddening, so he cleared his throat and set off in the right direction. “Come on, we have a job to do first.”

“Well done, very professional,” Sam said with a little laugh, even as he fell into step at Steve’s right side.

“Is there anybody home?” Steve asked in a low voice, after a few minutes of navigating the aisles of shelves in silence.

Sam was frowning down at the display on his phone. “Doesn’t look like it. No life signs.”

“Good,” said Steve, and he ducked over to plant a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek.

Sam chuckled and raised the shield as if to fend Steve off. “You want this thing back?”

“Nope,” said Steve without hesitation. He wanted Sam to get good with the weapon just in case, and, aesthetically, he couldn’t deny that he liked the contrast of the red, white, and blue against Sam’s black leather jacket. “My arm’s tired — you keep it for now.”

“I didn’t think your arms could get tired,” Sam said, sounding doubtful.

Steve smiled but didn’t reply, opting instead to push open the swinging doors that led from the stock room to the store itself.

“Now,” he said briskly, “where do you think we’d find proof that HYDRA’s here?”

“Second floor?” Sam suggested. “There’s probably an office or something.”

Steve nodded, and they made their way across the frozen food section towards the checkout and the stairs beyond. Their footsteps echoed in the dark cavernous space.

“This place is creepy at night,” Steve muttered.

“Yeah, I’m surprised there’s no night crew,” Sam mused. “It’s weird — place this big, you’d think they’d keep at least a few workers overnight, stocking shelves and whatnot. Maybe this really is a front.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed.

They were at the foot of the stairs when Sam stopped suddenly.

“What?” said Steve, his body tightening up into a fighting stance. “What is it?”

“Sorry, nothing,” Sam said quickly. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just figured out what’s so weird about this place.”

“And?”

“No music,” Sam declared. “You go to the grocery store, there’s always music playing. Mind you, it’s terrible music, so it’s not a bad thing that it’s off—”

“Terrible?” Steve repeated, unable to resist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I kind of like the grocery store music,” he added, just to see what Sam would do.

Sam didn’t disappoint. His face scrunched up like he’d bitten into a rotten orange, and he actually stepped away, putting some distance between them. “Ugh. Sometimes I forget you’re a hundred-year-old white dude.”

“Hey,” Steve said with feigned indignation. “I’ll have you know I’m only 97.”

“Whatever, old man,” Sam laughed. “Now get your pasty ass moving up these stairs. I’ll cover you.”

“Don’t deny it — you just like the view,” Steve muttered fondly as he started to climb.

“Rogers, you will never hear me deny a thing where your ass is concerned,” Sam answered, the appreciation obvious in his tone.

Steve grinned and led the way up the rest of the short flight of stairs and down a hall. They passed what looked to be a cooking classroom on the way. When they reached the office just past it, Steve pulled out his lock-picking kit while Sam examined a poster on the wall.

“‘Cooking for the Complete Novice,’” he read out loud.

“Probably too advanced for me,” Steve replied.

“Oh, most definitely,” Sam agreed, just as the lock clicked open. “You get the filing cabinet, I’ll check the desk?”

Steve nodded and crossed the room. “Invoices, stock orders, employee contracts,” he mumbled a moment later, flicking through the hanging folders. “You got anything over there?”

“Maybe,” said Sam hesitantly.

Steve heard the dull creak of wood giving way. “False bottom?” he asked, circling the desk to where Sam was crouched.

“Yep,” said Sam. “Check it out: the mother lode,” he added, removing a small stack of files from the drawer and setting them on the desk.

Steve pulled out his phone, since they didn’t have time to pore over them, and he wasn’t sure he could even read them clearly in the darkened office. The flash of the camera lit up the bright red HYDRA insignia in the top corner of every paper.

Steve clenched his jaw and sighed sharply through his nose. Seventy years on, and he was still chasing Nazis. What a world, he thought bitterly.

“Okay,” said Sam, once Steve had snapped pictures of all of them. “Now one for our scrapbook.”

He lifted a manila folder and posed, giving Steve a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. Steve stared for a second, then laughed and took the picture, grateful for the way that Sam always seemed to know what he needed in times like this.

“Thanks,” he said softly, as they put the folders back and replaced the wood panel that made the drawer look empty.

Sam squeezed Steve’s wrist gently as he got to his feet. “No problem.”

They left the office the way they found it and headed back down the stairs and through the store, Steve carrying the shield now.

“Power’s out for another 40 minutes. You want to call the team in tonight?” asked Sam when they were in the middle of the bakery section.

Steve considered it and shook his head. “No, let’s go through the data first. Maybe we can hit when they’re in the middle of something, really fuck up their operations.”

“Love it when you talk dirty,” Sam replied, but he was almost drowned out when his stomach gave a sudden growl. “Whoa, guess I worked up an appetite.”

“Come on,” Steve said, turning away. “We’ll be home soon enough.”

“Or,” said Sam slowly, and Steve turned back to see him opening a package of miniature donuts that had a large bright sticker proclaiming them to have been made in-store.

“Sam,” Steve hissed. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Sam protested innocently. There was powdered sugar dusting his lips and fingers. “Want one?”

“I— but— no. Thank you,” Steve stammered.

Sam shrugged and took out a donut to examine it. “You know, for being made by Nazis, these are pretty good.”

“Are you going to pay for those?” Steve finally managed to ask.

“Nope,” Sam replied, his mouth full.

“Well, you can’t just take them,” Steve rebuked.

“Steve,” said Sam, with a small shower of crumbs. “Nazis.”

“Still, you—” Steve began, but finally his brain caught up with his mouth. “All right, give me one of those.”

Sam laughed and handed Steve a fresh box off the shelf. “All yours, baby. And, since we’re here anyway, we should grab a jug of milk, maybe some OJ, and, hey, how do you feel me cooking you about steak and eggs tomorrow morning?”

Steve made a show of chewing thoughtfully before he swallowed with a nod. “You know, Sam, I feel pretty damn good about that.”

Sam grinned, bright and easy. “Best get a cart, sweetheart. We might be here a while.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to pick this series back up and write some SamSteve post-CW, but I don't have much in terms of inspiration. So, if you think of a story you'd like to read, prompt me in the comments below, or come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com)!


End file.
